


Over Flowers

by Nitzer



Series: i'm never getting over b1a4 over flowers apparently [1]
Category: B1A4
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drinking, HEAVY references to b1a4 over flowers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Sex Jokes and References, baro's cute squirrel teeth, implied SOMETHING with cnu/jinyoung/gongchan, it's not really important tho, lots of foreplay and nothing else, thigh worship? kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: Baro and Saneul kiss once drunk and a couple times while sober





	Over Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> this like really, really, REALLY heavily references B1A4 Over Flowers and like tbh just watch it bc it's good but also it will make this make more sense (idk if any of the references are true to Boys Over Flowers bc i've never watched it but it's probably close)  
> also, as always, with everything i write this got way, way, way outta hand and is way longer and way spicier than intended  
> better beta'd now

The celebration was a mistake. Celebrations weren’t always a mistake. When the first album did well the company threw us a party with cutely-decorated cupcakes and good food and all the staff that made the debut happen. There wasn’t any alcohol though. I mean I’m like 99% sure that they let Jinyoung and Dongwoo drink but me and Sunwoo were firmly denied. This wasn’t a party, though, this was barely a celebration at all. A lot of albums had done well at this point and the company had other groups to look over so the “celebration” this time is a card and a nice bottle of champagne dropped at our doorstep.

Jinyoung and Dongwoo confiscated the champagne first and complained about missing the cupcake parties in the kitchen. And of course the parents of the group are enjoying the champagne responsibly. Sunwoo and I are still firmly denied. It’s not debut anymore and we’re legal to drink now but Jinyoung _knows_ how annoying we are drunk and there’s no way we’re getting any while he’s still in the house.

It’s about a glass into the champagne when Chansik wiggles into Jinyoung’s lap and gives him his cutest face and in a lapse of barely-tipsy judgment Jinyoung pours him a glass. I see Dongwoo’s eyes widen in immediate fear and regret as he watches Jinyoung pour a glass. He knows that they’ve just been tricked (by the baby’s innate cuteness and charm) into making this a real celebration, into including the kids.

“Ah, so open bar?” I ask smoothly, sliding over to where Jinyoung and Dongwoo settled at the kitchen counter.

“No!” Jinyoung slaps my hand away from the bottle. “You wanna drink, you do it when I’m not here.”

“But you let Channie.” Sunwoo immediately whines behind me. It’s a coordinated, two-pronged attack.

“That’s different.” Jinyoung argues weakly.

“You _did_ let Channie.” Dongwoo says, raising his eyebrows and sipping at his drink like he’s already resigned himself to whatever the night is gonna be.

 “So open bar.” I repeat more confidently—triumphantly, honestly—pouring a glass for myself and then Sunwoo. He clinks our glasses together with a smug grin that only barely, _barely_ shows his squirrel teeth.  

Jinyoung at least exiles us to the living room as some sort of tiny bandaid on his massive mistake. Not Channie, though, because he’s being a cute and pliant puppy in Jinyoung’s lap and he’s touchy and sweet and wringing all the attention and affection and praise that he can out of the hyungs. So it’s just me and Sunwoo arguing over the League game Channie left up on the TV.

I don’t care really and all the arguments are playful. I’m only making semi-coherent points about TSM because they’re the only team I recognize. Sunwoo is making more coherent, smarter points because he recognizes more than three teams and can name like ten abilities in the game. And, honestly? I’m learning more than I’m arguing.

It feels warm and fuzzy and cozy probably because we’re drinking at home in the living room instead of a bar somewhere. I snuggle my way as deep as I can into the couch cushions to bury myself in comfort. And I’m pretty sure my voice is still at a normal volume even though I’m definitely tipsy by this point and we’re still arguing over video games. Which is not usual, the like number one reason that Jinyoung won’t let me drink with him is how _loud_ I get when I’m drunk but it’s cozy time. We’re chilling. “You’re good at video games.” I tell Sunwoo now that OGN has moved onto Starcraft and he still sounds just as smart and coherent.

“Channie’s better.” He brushes off.

“I suck.” I pout.

Sunwoo grins—sunny and unrestrained and my eyes are dipping down to follow his mouth. “You’re good at other things.” He says fondly but I barely catch it because his mouth is suddenly absolutely fascinating. I can’t really tell why but I feel like there’s admiration and some other kind of interest in the way I’m staring at Sunwoo. But I’m already at least tipsy and feelings are hard so I let it go.

Sunwoo turns sideways on the couch and hooks his legs over mine. It’s the kind of casual skinship I’m more than used to, the kind that sometimes leads to play fighting and that sometimes leads to easy closeness. I’m still feeling cozy and affectionate and content so it’s easy closeness this time.

Sunwoo is blond again for this comeback and the stylists haven’t gotten around to touching it up in a while so the dark roots are far longer than roots again. And I’m getting flashbacks to being stuck in tight over-the-knee socks and a stiff uniform, Sunwoo stuck in something equally as uncomfortable with his hair in stiff, tight curls. His hair for that shoot looked like ramyeon so we call him ramyeon and his costumes are majorly tacky so we poke fun at him for that too. He, honestly, probably got more shit than me for that shoot and I’m stuck in skirts and dresses the whole time with earrings _taped_ onto my unpierced ears at least once.

It’s been a _long_ time since _B1A4 Over Flowers_ and I can’t believe I’m thinking about it again just because of Sunwoo’s hair. I mean, I know the fans love it. I still see references to it all over the fan café and every other place I see the fans. It took _forever_ to make too. Longer than most music videos, honestly. It was a hard and long shoot and I spent the whole time in a foreign-feeling wig and a skirt. It’s really got the potential to be burned into my mind forever but it just wasn’t. I take off the Jan Di costume on the last day of shooting and on the way home I realize most of it is already a hazy memory.

“Sunwoo,” I say to him. I’m pretty sure that I wanna say something about ramyeon but I get stuck on his name instead. “Sunwoo,” I say again and I’m already smiling through it but I can’t really explain why. “Sunwoo,” and it’s just dissolved into giggles at this point.

He’s laughing with me—curious and light. “Yeah?”

“Sunwoo’s so good.” I lean into him, casual closeness turning into the closeness that we only have because of cramped quarters and shared lives. “Sunwoo’s so good,” I repeat, “why do I ever call you Baro? Why would you _ever_ want anyone to call you Baro?”

He pinches at my cheeks, teasing and playful. “You don’t call me Baro, you literally never call me Baro. Even when we’re on stage it’s still Sunwoo.” He says in his aegyo voice but I’m far enough away from sober to find it funny.

“Well, I’m never gonna call you Baro ever again.” I promise.

“Junghwan’s good too.” Sunwoo praises casually and I already feel like he’s up to something. “But you know what’s better?”

“Hm?” I acknowledge. I’m expecting “Sandeul” or even “Gongchan” or “Baro” because Sunwoo is a little shit and he’s always making jokes—that’s why we’re close.

“Hwannie.” He answers and it’s soft and laced with unexpected affection.

I’m totally caught off-guard by the sweetness and it worms into my heart so much easier that way. Sunwo _isn’t_ good at sweetness—at least not like this—he always fails boyfriend challenges and is bad at thinking of compliments on his feet (great at insults and teasing though). So the whole thing is a shock to me that leaves a small, breathless, little, “oh,” tumbling from my mouth.

“Hwannie,” he says again but this time it’s in the aegyo voice I’m way too familiar with and his face is all up in mine and it’s all fun teasing again. “My sweet little Hwannie.” He coos, squishing my cheeks together.

I push him back to his side of the couch. “I’m older than you.” I remind him, threateningly. I am. Technically.

“You’re cuter too.” His eyes are sparkling and I _get_ it now. This is a game. This is a competition.

“You’re more handsome.” I sing-song and it is _on_.

The game weaves its way in-between conversations about video games and our other idol friends and how Jinyoung and Dongwoo are so absolutely, totally biased towards Chansik. Sometimes I think the game is totally dropped and then Sunwoo’s eyes sparkle again and another compliment is dropped on me and it starts all over again.

At some point Sunwoo just says that he likes my voice and I have to call him out on it. “Too basic, too obvious, no points, try again.” I tell him.

“What?” He complains.

“No points.” I repeat. “Everyone likes my voice, it’s like objectively my best feature. Try again.”

He sighs deeply, really making sure that I know how annoyed he is with my decision. “I like your laugh…like a lot.” He says after a while. “It’s a really good laugh.”

All my decent thoughts leave me and are replaced with a tingling warmth instead. “I like your voice.” I parrot and even though it’s absolutely true it’s not what I meant to say. There’s something uniquely comforting about his steady, low tone.

He doesn’t look particularly impressed but he also doesn’t make me do another one. Jinyoung and Dongwoo make their way from the kitchen to their rooms, peppering kisses all over Chansik’s face along the way. Both me and Sunwoo gag once we can’t see them anymore.

“Channie’s not human,” rolls out of my mouth, “he’s some kind of angel or demon or…whatever who has to suck the love out of people to live.”

“He’s good at it, though.” Sunwoo acknowledges, tipping his glass towards me.

He is. I can’t deny it. Jinyoung and Dongwoo were absolutely wrapped around his finger and the staff all adored him and the fans treated him like a delicate little prince. If he was some kind of love-sucking demon, he was doing a really fucking good job of it.

Sunwoo goes back to complaining about all the preferential treatment Chansik gets and I’m not too responsive even though we talk about this all the time. I’m having trouble forming responses because I’m only barely catching what he’s saying again because I’m just staring at his mouth… _again_. The way his mouth’s moving has absolutely stolen my attention but I can’t figure out _why_. His mouth has always been like this and I’ve watched him talk like a million times—he’s always talking—it’s nothing new.

He says something about Channie being the “untouchable golden child” and I’m suddenly hit by a vivid memory of long socks digging into my thighs and a stiff uniform jacket pressing against my chest long after I’ve graduated. And I _get_ it. I hate it but I get it. I’m so focused on his mouth because I can’t stop thinking about _B1A4 Over Flowers_ and like all of that shoot was spent too close to Sunwoo, watching him talk. Sunwoo’s mouth is a lot better than Jun Pyo’s mouth, though and actor Sunwoo is so different from tipsy, relaxed, hanging-out-at-the-dorms Sunwoo. And the vague memory I have of smooth, proud Jun Pyo mixes in with loud, messy, familiar Sunwoo for something that makes my face heat up with unfamiliarity.

Sunwoo has gotten a whole lot closer while I was lost in a years-old shoot that’s gonna haunt me until I die apparently and he’s snuggled happily into my side. “You’re the best for cuddling.” It’s probably still part of the game.

I don’t know if it’s really part of the game, though and I’m really having trouble with words because his warmth is overwhelming. And I can’t believe that _Sunwoo_ is flustering me. “Better than Channie?”

“Oh yeah,” he responds without thought, “he’s too boney.”

I think about how Channie’s always been boney and how I’ve always been a little chubby and Sunwoo’s been all of that _and_ fit and muscular and slender. He’s been sturdy for this whole comeback—somewhere between fit and not—and he’s always been good curl up next to or lean on for a quick nap. I know our friendship is mostly loud and mischievous but falling asleep on him has always been good too. “I like taking naps with you the best.” I tell him. It comes out with this blank, childish sincerity that I don’t expect.

“I know.” He laughs. “You’re always falling asleep on me.” And he brings everything back down from weirdly intimate to playful and friendly again. We’re still too, too close but I’m just enjoying his warmth. He finally changes the channel from OGN to some singing competition and I finally have some relevant commentary on what we’re watching. I bitch about the song choices and how just because something is popular doesn’t mean that it requires talent to sing.

Sunwoo laughs into me and the closeness is less flustering, more familiar. The champagne has loosened all my nervousness and it easily just floats away.

I wasn’t particularly nervous the several times I had to kiss Sunwoo for _B1A4 Over Flowers_. It wasn’t really a joke and it wasn’t really fan service so it just ends up being acting. I’m just acting—Jan Di has to kiss Jun Pyo so I have to kiss Sunwoo. There’s so many layers of separation between the two of us that I’m not really feeling anything honestly.

The first kiss is barely even caught on camera and if I’d just hovered over Sunwoo’s lips and never let them touch, no one ever would’ve noticed. But the script said “kiss” and the director doesn’t bother giving us any more direction than that (the director is a good hyung and we all like him but he’s not a director really). So, hunched over a damp Sunwoo, next to a pool we rented in a uniform I would never get comfortable with, our lips touch.

It’s certainly not a kiss, it’s barely a screen kiss. Both of our lips are frozen, there’s no brush, no movement at all. It’s just a touch. And I guess it’s so _nothing_ to me because I can’t even remember what it felt like. The stiff uniform and the warm deck and a warm puff of breath on my face are locked into my mind but I couldn’t say if his lips were chapped or plush or soft or anything. And then I’m swinging my legs over by the pool and watching Dongwoo pull Sunwoo up from the ground, laughing about something and the experience is gone—Channie doesn’t even bother teasing me about it on the way home.

The second kiss is very clearly on screen.  It’s big, it’s dramatic, the main couple are finally, _finally_ getting together. There’s really not a clever way to shoot this so it’s not a kiss especially because we’ve played the drama so straight up to this point. And our director finally has some direction for us. “Just don’t move,” he tells me specifically when no one else is paying attention, “Sunwoo’s gonna kiss you and you just have to stand still—like don’t move _at all_.” I can tell that this is not a creative decision—some kind of artistic vision—it’s an order from the company or something to make this as little of a _kiss_ as it can be with Sunwoo’s lips still on mine.

The river we’re shooting next to is really, genuinely pretty and Sunwoo looks good and the mood is almost, _almost_ romantic but it’s just a shoot. Suddenly (even though it’s all planned out and choreographed and I literally read it in the script) his cute, squirrel smile is in my face and he only looks a little bit nervous and then I have to close my eyes. The lips on mine _are_ soft but I can’t connect them to Sunwoo (especially without seeing him) and I’m not supposed to move either. His lips move once, a quick brush that feels nice and then we’re frozen together again. I don’t know what direction Sunwoo got but I can’t move and I’m just frozen waiting for him to move or the others to finally come in.

Someone starts clapping (probably Jinyoung) and Sunwoo pulls away (even though it’s not on camera anymore) and there’s another quick brush that I really don’t have the chance to enjoy. And all the kisses are over. The whole thing is basically over. I’m tired. I never wanna wear a wig again. I never wanna see a school uniform again. I wanna sleep for at least two whole days. The memory of it all fades quickly and easily with exhaustion. In the van on the way home I fall asleep (make-up still on) on Sunwoo’s shoulder.

I’m close to being asleep on Sunwoo’s shoulder again, at home, in the living room, not paying attention to the singing competition anymore.

“Ok…ok, I’ll say it,” Sunwoo finally tells me. I perk up, more awake and tensed, ready for whatever drunken and ill-advised thing he’s gonna tell me. “You looked really good in thigh highs.”

“What?” I slur out. “When did I…?”

“Jan Di,” he replies without thought, “the Over Flowers thing.”

“Oh,” I say, the memory of the socks digging into my thighs is still fresh but I don’t know why Sunwoo is hung up on it too. “Really?” I don’t know why I ask. I guess it feels good to hear with the warm comfort of the room simmering into something hotter.

“Yeah,” he assures, “you have really good thighs.”

I giggle because it sounds weird and I’ve never heard it before. No one’s ever said anything about my legs before. I don’t think Sunwoo’s ever even mentioned liking legs before. I adjust our position so my legs are laying over his this time and his hands rest lightly on my thighs. It’s familiar, it’s a position we’ve been in plenty of times before. And I have to wonder if all the other times Sunwoo rested his hands on my thighs like this he was thinking of me in thigh highs, if it was some kind of _thing_ for him. It’s not weird anymore—not with feeling of being wanted, of being alluring, of being _sexy_ (really, genuinely, in-the-flesh, to someone who can act on it) settling on me. Instead of being weird, my skin is suddenly prickling with possibilities.

“I like your mouth.” I let my eyes drop down to his mouth and this time it’s obvious and purposeful. There’s something crackling in the air—it’s not a riverbank and it’s not romantic but it’s _consuming_ and fiery.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and it can’t be neutral or accidental. Everything feels too charged with meaning.

“I know I’ve been staring a lot tonight,” I say coyly, keeping my eyes trained on his mouth, “I just can’t seem to stop.”

His hands flex, tensing where they are on my thighs. “Oh?” He gets out. And I can’t believe that _I’m_ the one flustering Sunwoo now but it feels so, so good to have that power.

“I think I wanna kiss you.” It really could be an ill-advised, tipsy confession and I can still play it off like that but it’s not, the tension is too thick for it to be uncalculated.

It’s Sunwoo who breaks the tension, roughly grabbing my chin and slotting our mouths together. It’s a bad angle for a kiss and I almost miss his hands on my thighs and our teeth clack together but it’s almost…good…? It’s a messy and uncoordinated _explosion_. It’s almost exactly what I wanted. I’ve already kissed smooth and controlled Jun Pyo, I want to kiss messy and familiar Sunwoo. It’s a flash of his cute squirrel smile in my face and his lips _are_ chapped, catching against mine in a way that I _have_ to remember. I’m allowed to look at him and move against him this time so I do. The lips on mine have to be Sunwoo’s, every sensation I’m feeling is Sunwoo. It’s Sunwoo, Sunwoo, Sunwoo and I’m drowning in him. I mouth at him, trying to get as much of that pleasant catch and slide as I can.

He pulls me into his lap, making the angle better, making everything hotter, putting his hands back over my thighs. (I have a brief and fleeting fantasy about not having pants on—having at least shorts but maybe a skirt and thigh highs on—so his hands could slide easily under the fabric and be on my skin.) “You’re supposed to close your eyes.” He murmurs against my mouth.

His hot breath fanning over slicked lips makes my brain stutter and replaces any memories I have of warm puffs of breath on my face on a set in front of a camera somewhere. “I want to remember kissing you this time.” I confess—dazed, barely aware of my admission.

“Of course,” he assures, his hands slide up to my hips. “Of course, Hwannie, just…” He stumbles. “Just enjoy it.”

So I let my eyes slip shut to just enjoy it. I don’t lose the concept of Sunwoo this time. I can’t. The quiet little pants of breath sound like him. The secure, warm, strong hands on my hips ground me and make me want to grind down into him in a way that only Sunwoo could feel like. It even smells like him—woodsy and minty. I slide my hands up the front of his shirt and feel like I’m going to burn up from the sheer _heat_ of it all.

Sunwoo pushes me down into the couch in a fluid and easy move that shouldn’t be (not with my weight and not with the alcohol we had both consumed). I shouldn’t be easy to _manhandle_ like this. I let out a half-surprised, half-aroused little gasp and Sunwoo’s mouth is suddenly pressed up against my ear. “Your voice is so sweet and pretty, Hwannie,” he praises, “has anyone else ever heard you like this?”

Not intentionally. Not like this. Not while hovering over me, making me feel like I’m burning up.

I don’t have to answer for him to continue. “Everyone might like your voice, baby, but this,” he ghosts his fingers over my lips, “is something special.” I wonder if Sunwoo _has_ heard me before in desperate moments of hurried relief in the shower or when I thought I was alone. I wonder if this whole thing had been simmering for much longer than one champagne-soaked night, longer than I even guessed, and I just never caught on.

I pull at his shirt in a silent plea for _something_. I don’t even know what yet. And then I realize I don’t have to plea and wait and I push our lips back together for something slick and messy. He lets me have it before pushing his face into the junction between my neck and shoulder, biting harshly and then soothing at it. I wonder if he’s making marks (I almost _hope_ he is making marks).

Sunwoo takes the initiative again, stripping his shirt off and letting my hands wander where ever. He tugs at my shirt for permission and I want to be embarrassed but I’m thoroughly not somehow and the blush covering my entire upper half is from everything else. He lets his hands wander slowly, curiously. I don’t mind the slow pace. It’s warm and relaxed and there is so much on Sunwoo that I’ve seen but never been able to touch, never been able to stare at, never been able to revel in. And we’ve already exploded. Then tension has already ruptured into messy kisses. Now the kisses are slow and soft and wet and I can savor it. I can imprint the whole thing in my memory.

The slow and curious pace is good and I’m melting instead of on fire. The cramped couch doesn’t feel cramped anymore because I want to be pushed up against Sunwoo as much as I can. I watch him dig his fingers into the soft flesh of my hips—hard, unexpectedly hard and I think about being _marked_ again (finger-shaped bruises in the delicate skin of my hips). The idea is so hot that I’m burning and frantic again and I want to push my hips against his. I want him to push me back into the couch with that same strength and ease that made me shiver. He nips at my collarbone and his hands find my nipples and I’m pretty sure I’m getting fucked (or at least getting off) before morning.

Someone’s voice on the singing competition cracks on their way to a high note and it’s so loud and obnoxious that it cuts through everything else. I feel all the heat leaking out of the atmosphere and I don’t really mind. Sunwoo is laughing with me and like it _sucks_ , I’ve been there, but it’s still fucking funny. There’s nothing frantic left in either of us even though we’re touching in nearly every way possible. It’s all just casual and warm.

“You want me to turn the TV off?” He asks.

I nod and wrap myself up in the blanket left on the couch.

He settles back in next to me and kisses me softly on the pulse point behind my ear. There’s no heat or aggression left in the action, though. “So, you wanna continue…?” He trailed off suggestively.

“Nah,” I tell him. I’m barely even hard and probably too drunk to really enjoy it, anyway. “Some other time?” I offer.

“Some other time.” He confirms with a quick kiss. I snuggle into him happily, tangling our legs together. “You wanna sleep on the couch?” He asks skeptically.

“I don’t care,” I mumble sleepily, “I just wanna sleep with you.”

“Oh,” he murmurs affectionately. “Okay.” He clicks the light off and curls his arm around me. “Good night, Hwannie.” It feels unexpectedly good to fall asleep curled into someone. Not just sharing a room or a bed with them. Not just leaning against them for a nap in-between busy schedules. But to really, purposefully fall asleep with them.

It’s an easy and dreamless sleep. Maybe because the promotions are over and a success and we have a break stretching ahead of us. Maybe because of the alcohol. Maybe because being wrapped up in Sunwoo’s warmth, skin-to-skin, is so good that my brain can’t conjure up anything better for my dreams. (Maybe, definitely the last one.)

I wake up almost uncomfortably warm but it hasn’t quite made it to uncomfortable yet, just really fucking warm. My head pounds with its own pulse and maybe I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the couch because my arm is numb and my neck is fucked. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and my throat is scratchy. I tuck myself further into the warmth around me to avoid the fact that I’m conscious again. The body against me shifts and the skin-on-skin slide was so good that it momentarily soothes my hangover.

“Hwannie?” Sunwoo questions.

“I’m not awake.” I growl.

“Oh,” Sunwoo laughs and I can _feel_ the vibrations in his chest. It feels good. “Okay.” He tucks the blanket back around me and turns us so we fit better on the couch and I can feel the blood finally rush back into my arm. There’s the soft chatter of cartoons in the background until I’m back asleep again.

I wake up again, not as warm, grumpy, alone on the couch, feeling less like shit though. I can hear the quiet sizzle of something cooking. It smells good enough that I’ll brave being conscious for it. I trudge into the kitchen with the blanket draped over my shoulders. Sunwoo is eating something in low-slung, worn sweatpants and no shirt. He looks good—his golden skin looks _so_ good in golden sunlight. “Oh,” he says happily, “hungry?” He offers me a bite off his plate. It looks good even though Sunwoo rarely cooks. I take the food off of his chopsticks and even though he’s fed me like a million times, it feels more intimate this time. “Drink something too.” He nudges a cup of water towards me and leaves me with his plate to grab another one.

Sometimes I catch him watching me eat with palpable affection. “Do you uh…remember last night?” He finally asks.

“Uh yeah,” I answer around a mouthful of food. The memory is only slightly blurred around the edges and the hangover really wasn’t that bad either. I didn’t drink _that_ much.

“Do you remember kissing me?” The air is suddenly charged again. It’s too early to be on fire but I’m still tingling with familiar heat.

“It’s kinda fuzzy.” It isn’t. I can remember his lips all over my skin. I can remember the catch and slide of barely chapped lips. I can remember hot, damp breath on the sensitive skin of my neck.

“You said you wanted to remember.” He tells me quietly, looking frustrated or disappointed. I can’t really tell.

“So, remind me.” I tempt. He smiles—bright and cute and I might absolutely be in love with it. He leans across the table to kiss me, it’s gentle and lacks heat. I don’t mind the new experience, though. “You taste awful.” I laugh and he pushes me back down into my seat. I help him wash the dishes ( _all_ of them, Jinyoung better be fucking happy) and he follows me to the bathroom when I make some attempt to wash the hangover off of me. He drapes himself over my shoulders and around my waist while I brush my teeth and I pretend to be annoyed with the closeness (I’m not, I kinda love it).

I sneak into the room I share with Dongwoo to get clean clothes and find our beds shoved together in the middle of the room. Dongwoo is sprawled out on one side, loosely spooning Chansik. The baby is tightly curled next to Jinyoung, wearing just boxers and a sweatshirt I know is Dongwoo’s. Jinyoung has an arm slung carelessly over Chansik, his hand brushing against Dongwoo’s stomach. I know he’s asleep but somehow Chansik _still_ looks smug and content. He’s a pampered, little prince who got exactly what he wanted. I save my frustration for when they’re actually awake and more annoying, though.

I slip back out, determined to wash the rest of the hangover off of me.

“What happened in there?” Sunwoo gestures to my door with his head, stopping me in the hallway.

“A threesome probably.” I snort.

“So you’re gonna wanna avoiding being in there?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna shower.” I hold up my clean clothes as some kind of proof.

Sunwoo backs me up against the wall. “Shouldn’t you get dirty first?”

“Ew,” I snort, “gross, sleazy.” I don’t stop him from pushing me back towards his room though. He kicks the door shut and I fall back on his bed. He crawls over me easily and kisses me hungrily and I guess the “some other time” we agreed on is right now. It’s not frantic anymore. Nothing explodes. It’s hot and slow. I’m melting and I’m melting quickly.

Sunwoo wiggles me out of my pants around the same time he gets out of his. And I actually have the sense to feel embarrassed this time, my body flushing splotchy pink all over my chest and thighs. He slinks down my body, his head in-between my legs. I didn’t expect a blow job but I’m absolutely not against it. And then he presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh and then another and the skin is unexpectedly sensitive. I shiver at the feeling (good, it’s a really good feeling) and watch goose bumps rise all over my legs.

“So is this like a real thing for you? Thighs?”

“I don’t know.” He sucks a sloppier kiss to the opposite side and I have to suck a sharp breath in to keep up with my rapid heartbeat. “Maybe—yours at least…yours are my thing.”

“Are the thigh highs part of the thing?” I manage to breathe out.

“They just looked good, I don’t know.” He says again.

“Maybe I’ll have to talk to wardrobe.” I pause because my head is starting to swim. “I liked them too.” I purr.

Sunwoo groans so deep it’s almost a growl. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.” He sucks a deliberate mark into the inside of my thigh, high enough to be hidden by shorts. I can only imagine the deep purple it’s going to be with the reddish dots I already see appearing. And it’s so much hotter than possible marks on my neck and finger-shaped bruises on my hips and I can’t even say why. I’m just moaning and scrambling for Sunwoo to give me more—more of anything, honestly.

Sunwoo grabs my clean shirt to wipe the cum off my stomach once he has enough sense to clean us up. I have to swat it out of his hands. “I still have to shower.” I mumble.

“Now I do too.” There’s a suggestive edge to his tone and I just let it happen.

Sunwoo doesn’t try anything in the shower. I don’t either. We’re both still tired and sated and happy. And there’s a whole break ahead of us to try whatever shit we want. He washes my hair and helps me maneuver around him in the tiny shower. And when we’re both clean he takes a moment to wrap his arms around my waist and just hold me under the water. I let my head fall back on his shoulder and decide that this is probably what heaven feels like before the door clicks open.

Chansik makes eye contact with me through the clear plastic of the shower curtain (still wearing Dongwoo’s sweatshirt and no pants). “Jinnie!” He screams.

“’Jinnie’?” Sunwoo mocks.

“Pretty fucking familiar with our leader.” I snort.

“Jungwhan and Sunwoo are in the shower still!” I hear Channie complain down the hall.

“I don’t care what you’re doing in there,” I hear Dongwoo’s low and commanding rumble, “just get out.”

“You’re playing favorites!” Sunwoo tries to argue.

“Just. Get. Out.” Jinyoung repeats in his leader tone.

“They’re so fucking playing favorites.” Sunwoo complains lowly to me, already turning the shower off.

“I guess you just have to have a threesome with them to be their favorite.” I toss out casually.

Sunwoo laughs while towel drying my hair. I melt into the little bit of intimacy he gives me. I melt into every bit of intimacy he gives me—straightening out my clothes later when we’re laying on the couch, brushing a stray eyelash off my cheek during dinner, letting me tuck my face into his chest when we fall asleep that night. We have a whole break stretching out before us and I think about everything there is open to explore. And there’s a lot more than a handful of screen kisses and one champagne-soaked night.

**Author's Note:**

> did i really imply a threesome between the leader, the oldest and the baby? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> am i proud of that? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
